


and now the night is fading and the storm is past

by LostUnderTheSurface



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batfamily (DCU), F/M, Family Fluff, Feel-good, Fluff, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostUnderTheSurface/pseuds/LostUnderTheSurface
Summary: Soft and fluffy one-shots of Batfamily relaxing after patrol.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: For the Wrestling and the Weary





	1. Dick

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend with the fomi: as much fluff as I can exhume from my cold, black heart.
> 
> Title from "Home" by Rich Mullins.

Cereal is a poor substitute for an actual meal, but it’s filling and sugary and--most importantly--zero effort. No prep time, no cooking time, no pans or pots to wash up afterward.

Just a bowl and spoon and a delicious ten minutes of crunching down on chocolatey goodness.

He leaves the TV off this time. No doubt the news is running wild with reports on tonight’s gang rivalry at the docks, but he’s already seen it firsthand. He’s got the bruises and headache to prove it, too.

Grenades are no joke, kiddos. Always remember to take appropriate cover _before_ they explode.

He snorts as he drains his milk from the bottom of the bowl. Jason’s gonna find that funny in a morbid kind of way, and if the thought stings, it’s a good sting because at least Jason _will_ rather than Jason _would_.

Being alive is a great thing.

He trips over his uniform on the way to the kitchen. Oops. kind of forget he left it there when he was changing into old sweats and a threadbare T-shirt. He makes a mental note to pop it in the wash when he comes out (he’ll forget, but it’s the thought that counts) and plunks his dishes into the sink next to this morning’s butter knife and fried egg pan.

What was that Cinderella rhyme again? Wishes wishes won’t wash the dishes?

Nope. No washing. Tonight he sleeps the well-deserved sleep of Gotham’s vigilantes.

He collapses face-first into the couch and inhales the scent of weeks’ old popcorn and spilled beer. Jason’s fault, maybe, or Roy’s or Wally’s. Gotta keep a close eye on redheads and speedsters.

Speaking of redheads--

His comm buzzes on the glass coffee table where he dropped it while stripping. He fumbles for it and pops it in his ear.

“‘Ello, gorgeous.”

Barbara snorts. “Hello to you, too, hot pants. I was worried you’d blown your eardrums earlier.”

“Lotta explosions, wasn’t it? That’s why I invest in proper ear protection. Tell Tim I said that.”

She laughs. “Not gonna let him forget it, eh?”

“Nope. Never. Oldest brother privilege.”

She hums and taps at her keyboard. He closes his eyes and lets the sounds wash over him. Familiar. Rhythmic. Soothing. He can imagine the scene: Barbara relaxed in her chair, blue monitor light glowing on her glasses and glossed lips, the speed of her slender fingers dancing over the keys with clear-polished nails. The ever-watchful Oracle, the big sister of the family. Gosh, he loves her.

“You’re nodding off, Man Wonder.”

“Huh?” He starts up with drool at the corner of his mouth. “Whazzut?”

She snickers. “Get to bed, Dick. It’s been a long night and you deserve some sleep.”

“And leave you all alone?” He jokes.

“I’ve got plenty of company right here.”

She’s probably got the beanie dolls of Cass’ Batgirl and his own Nightwing propped up next to the display. Just like Barbara to show her affection in small ways.

“Al’right, I’m going.” He grins even as exhaustion pulls at his brain. “I’ll talk to you later, love.”

“You know it.”

He drops the comm and flops back onto the couch. His bed is too far away even to consider going to, and this couch has been good to him over the years.

Just a few hours’ sleep until morning, and then he can go harass Jason about the beer smell currently tickling at his nose.

_Ahhh… sleep…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always make sure to brush and floss before bed, especially if it is preceded by consumption of copious amounts of sugar.


	2. Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never so much as touched a lit cigarette in my life, so apologies for any inaccuracies in describing smoking.

The breeze is chilly on the fire escape but he doesn’t mind. He’s been through worse.

Way worse.

He twirls the cigarette between his fingers and contemplates if he should really smoke it. Bad for the lungs and throat, as Dickster keeps reminding him, but he finds the process of lighting up and inhaling and exhaling to be comforting.

He’s been smoking on and off since he was twelve. Sometimes it’s a craving for the familiar, a way to make his world tilt right side up again. Sometimes it just reminds him of being a brat with a smart mouth and too much bravado for his fragile soul.

Alfred always hated it when he smoked indoors. Said it ruined the furnishings and stuff.

Maybe that’s why he prefers jumping from safehouse to safehouse every few weeks. See, if you never stay in one place for more than a fortnight, it doesn’t matter how much you smoke since you’re not there long enough for the odor to set in.

Or something. He’s a little concussed after tonight’s powwow at the docks. The smoke helps his head go places, but rational thinking ain’t one of them.

He kind of prefers it this way. Rational thinking leads to guilt which leads to regret which leads to--

God. He sounds like Dick. Worse--he sounds like Bruce.

He digs in his pants for a lighter and flicks it on. The tiny flame is soothing. Maybe he could just stare into it for the rest of the night, the rest of tomorrow, forget everything that’s ever happened to him and just--

No. Nope. Not tonight. He’s already drowned enough for one lifetime.

The cigarette glows, a bright speck of light against the darkness, and he exhales the first lungful of smoke with a sigh. The taste leaves something to be desired, but that ain’t why he does it. He’s actually kinda fond of the aftertaste that once made him choke and gag. Reminds him of how far he’s come from that same smart-mouthed brat with a fragile soul.

The Red Hood ain’t a fragile soul anymore. More like one forged of fire and steel. Stone-hearted. Impenetrable.

The breeze feels almost kinda nice against his bare chest. He shifts his seat on the metal grate and takes another drag. If he were a wizard, he’d blow smoke rings, but the only thing Red Hood blew tonight was a couple of buildings sky-high with dynamite, and wasn’t that exhilarating. Hopefully that scatter-brained idiot in the blue finger-stripes remembered proper ear protection, but Jason won’t cry if he didn’t.

Jason doesn’t cry. Not since his mom died. Not since Bruce failed to save him.

Not since Bruce  _ replaced  _ him.

The cigarette singes his fingers and he almost drops it, catching himself at the last second. D--- it. He got too lost in those memories again.

_ Focus, Jason. Focus on the present. Focus on the smoke, on the cold, on the city sounds echoing around you, on the fact that the only way in and out of your safehouse is the very window behind you and that no one is going to sneak up on you or stick a bomb in your bed or snipe you from a rooftop. _

Life is good. Life is great. Life is worth living, despite everything that’s been done to him, and that feeling, at least, he can embrace tonight.

He doesn’t want anything else right now. Just the smoke, the breeze, the faint hint of stars overhead.

Despite himself, his legs curl up to his chest and he rests his chin on his knees, cigarette dangling from trembling fingers.

The embrace of the smoke is as close to a hug as he’s getting tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I petitioned for Fluff, but Jason called for Angst.


End file.
